Lisa Montegromni's Big Adventure at Hogwarts
by pink cows CAN fly
Summary: A hardcore HARRY Potter fan finding out it was never just a story. dim-witted, creartive(very), it's the one and only Lisa Montegromni. Fall in love her as she tries to fit in where it all started. That's right, the 90's .Based on a dream I had.
1. CHAPTER 1: THE BEGINNING (SO CLICHÉ)

CHAPTER 1: THE BEGINNING (SO CLICHÉ)

Thunder rumbled, a baritone which would have intimidated the resident of a well-kept mansion resting underneath the heavy grey clouds if they were not resting in oblivion. Only one was up working.

A woman sat on a chair in the middle of a ridiculously extravagant study room. Quick quote quills were flying furiously across the pages of a floating spiral notebook as the woman dictated. "Cases have occurred in which the subjects find themselves at a different place and time, depending on the rotation of Jupiter's third moon, Amalthea. Subjects are rarely non-muggles, with the exception of pure-blood witch, Carla Sasmund (head of the well-known quidditch team, Holy head harpies,1932.) who claimed that she fell from her broom in an accident during practice but ended up in the carriage of sir Alfred Goodman (Order of Merlin, first class) in the year 1628 for 15 minutes. Sir Goodman later claimed he thought it was an amateur attempt at apparition by an injured goblin spawn. "

"It wasn't until Sasmund's death in 1967 did the ministry of magic begun looking into this matter. It is rumored that Unspeakables have been experimenting with time turners but with no such luck, as even time turners could not mimic the methods of the time and place exchange. Such phenomenons, though rare, have happened in B.C. 257, 1250 and A.D.1356 and 1618 respectively and are recorded as "strange yet oddly fascinating" by ministry of magic worker, Vern Sholley. Unlisted cases (where the subject does not report the incident to the department of mysteries) are suspected to have occurred in various stages. Most subjects, being muggles, are given potions or immediate treatment to ensure the statute of secrecy-"

She stopped. God, she was dying for a cup of coffee. It was time for a well-deserved break. A few biscuits wouldn't suffice either; she had skipped dinner just to finish this article.

_Ed should be so lucky, _the researcher thought, as she got up and stretched her sore back. Said editor was a tough, no-you-may-not-have-another-day–to–finish-this-article type of person. Big bloke with watery eyes._ But he was a dear to let me write this one._ She'd practically tackled him and shouted "yes!" in front of her colleagues when he suggested her writing about the Tempus Viators.

Slowly, as two hours of non-stop research was starting to take its toll on her, she made her way into the kitchen.

_Tempus Viator, literally the translation of time traveler, though not the way muggles usually pictured them with telephones and enginge…thingies. _She thought, taking some iced biscuits of the tin. _They tended to romanticize things. Muggles were curios that way._

Tempus Viators usually appeared when the universe decided it needed to break the barrier between the wizarding world and the muggle world._ Stupid law of the universe. Where was an available Tempus Viator when you needed one to interview for the 1981 witches' weekly collection: magic and secrets forgotten _(the name was cheesy but the contents were brilliant, if she could say so herself) ?Besides, the wizarding world needed a hero or at least some someone to stand up to he-who-must-not-be-named now that his death eaters were running rampant on the streets killing-_ no, Rosie, don't let yourself go there, what's happened has happened, Robert's gone. _She mentally scolded herself, she vowed never to think of her deceased husband and the gaping hole in her that he left but here she was, doing it again. She gave an involuntary shudder. She would die to protect her boys from him.

Just as she lifted her mug, filled with warm sweet-smelling liquid, her kitchen door exploded.

Spontaneously combust, really, but no one corrected a murderer._ It could only be the work of magic_. She thought as her head hit the floor, shrapnel flying past her and her thin frame sprawled onto the floor. _No… no…nonononononononononoo, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod._

But it was too late. A snake slithered in, followed by a tall man in a sweeping robe with glowing red eyes and slits for the nostrils.

"Leave my boys alone." she all but whimpered. Voldemort smiled, not a kind smile or I'm-going-to-kill-you smile, it was a chilling smile that froze your blood and welcomed incurable fourth degree frostbite. It was as if it were some sort of recreation he often did. Lining them up for slaughter one by one weekly, smiling at them the way he was smiling at her now. And knowing what he was capable of (she had researched him), he probably did.

"please." She begged, Tim and Joshua, bright minds, cheeky faces, safe, unharmed, alive… 'Your reputation has grown, Mrs. Linney. 'Was his reply before a flash of green engulfed her senses. She lay limply, a troubled expression on her face, clearly dead, still worrying about her children.

Two hours later, away from the glowing dark mark that was hovering over the smoking remains of the linney's once-beautiful house, Ophelia Trelawney's voice dropped an octave.

Her daughter, Sybill, stared at her, face quite flushed. Sybill had been looking for some last minute panty hoses to pack in her trunk for her trip. ( "a promising teaching career", she had bragged to her neighbor, unaware that Mrs. Chan had no idea what the mad girl was on about and had no intention of asking, "at Hogwarts, too. Best school there is." Mrs. Chan had nodded politely, too tired of telling the girl that should really brush her hair.)

Sybill didn't often pay attention to her mother's prediction, partly because her mother was so sensitive about the future (possessing the sight of a proper seer, her mother had told her,), she tended to pick up every single bloody thing, from what time it was going to be in two minutes ("your grandmother was proud of my gift", Ophelia had said haughtily to her when she doubted it was a useful trait.) to what would happen six millennia from now( "one can never be too informed."). Also, partly because she thought she would see whatever was going on and she was missing using her sight rather than mummy's some time later. She was mostly wrong, because she had no idea, even when she tried marshalling the forces of the oracle.

But, this time it sounded important, so she decided to listen, just this once until she had the vision herself anyway. The only problem was, because she had been very hectic and frenzy from the packing and shoving, she'd decided that some sherry would do her good, so she had a bottle. More or less.

The only words she caught were "a decade later" and "the alligator triumphs" (or was it "the viator triumphs"?). Oh well, she would pick it up soon enough.

Sybill dragged her trunk across the room to her mother, who was still in her trance, (she was used to it anyway, if anything she preferred It.) told her to stop fussing, that she would write weekly and loved her (the usual drill) and that there was cake in the pantry (to show she actually _did_ love her) and apparated.

Ophelia, once out of her trance, shocked and terrified from the recent prediction, could only breathe, "god help us, we need someone."


	2. CHAPTER 2: INTRODUCING OUR HERO

A/N:HELLO PEOPLE,THIS IS MY FIRST FANFIC SO DON'T JUDGE ME TOO QUICKLY. I SWEAR THIS ISN'T THE USUAL OC STORIES YOU SEE, PRETTY PLEASE...I'M AN AMATUER WRITER, A TERRIBLE SPELLER AND ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE ,IT'S MY 4TH. I'M ALSO A UNICORN IN DISGUISE SO I CAN'T TYPE REALLY FAST, I BLAME MY HOOVES.

OH MY GOD.

OH MY GOD.

OH MY GOD.

OH MY GOD.

I pounce, tackling the unsuspecting form of the raven-haired boy. He yells because I'm sure he didn't expect anyone, much less a 23 year-old who looks like a 10 year-old to bear-hug him in his train compartment which I had just more-or-less barged into. OK, I'll admit that I kind of did charge with the energy of a stampede, but anyway that's not the point, the point is I am hugging the-boy-who-lived, the boy of my day (and night, of course) dreams, that boy who is HARRY POTTER!

OH MY GOD.

OH MY GOD.

OH MY GOD.

OH MY GOD.

Because that pretty much sums up how I feel. Breathless…lightheaded… Right now he looks absolutely swoonsome, if not a pit pink in the face and confused-looking. I set him down on the chocolate frog card and wrapper-littered floor( it's a pigsty in here), even though he's quite taller than me, and he gasps for air( I didn't squeeze that hard, did I?). I suppress the urge to squeal, knowing it would alarm him more. I know I must look like a complete mess so I survey the reflection of myself in the mirror. My heart-shaped face is flushed with enthusiasm, my brown eyes are wide and my dark wavy hair is all over the place, but I look younger somehow, 11, I think, I'm extremely sure I didn't look like an eleven year-old this morning when I woke up…come to think of it, I don't think I know what happened this morning or how I got here. Come on, Liz, think!

I sink into the plushy seats besides Harry, somewhat puzzled. I mean I know I'm Lisa, Lisa Montegromni, a 23-year-old, I'm sure. But I just can't conjure the image of what I did a fortnight ago, much less yesterday. It's like I have amnesia or something. I _know_ I have an obsession with Harry Potter, who is currently scrambling to get up and rushing to the side of a red-head with violent specks of freckles covering every inch of his skin. Ah… he must be Ron. I was expecting some sort of miniature version of Rupert Grint, much like I was hoping to see a cute version of Daniel Radcliffe. Except I was quite thoroughly disappointed, because they look nothing like Daniel or Rupert. They look like normal every day kids, the ones you see and quickly dismiss. But you can't discredit Daniel Radcliffe or Rupert Grint, I mean I suppose there is the hair color there … oh, and the glasses…. And Ron's…rat, I guess (though I think rats look the same anywhere). Anyway, I know I like jazz and I hate metal but I don't know what my favorite food is. Some parts of my life are hazy and some are so vibrant…

How did I get here? Well, the only thing I remember is that I woke up in an empty train compartment…wearing some robes… an irrational sense of certainty that I was on the Hogwarts express... and I wondered around the corridors until I saw harry and Ron sitting in here…and…something I can't quite remember…

'Blimey, harry, you never said anything of having a fan club!" Ron tries to joke but it comes out a bit strained. In fact they both are looking rather shocked at my presence.

There's a moment of prickling and embarrassed silence.

"Umm… I'm Lisa, Lisa Montegromni." I say, extending my hand. Harry shakes it as Ron introduces himself.

"So, Ron, uh...Nice rat." I say lamely, I was about to ask if his mother packed him corned beef when something stopped me. Common sense. I think, but that's not the problem, it was as if I couldn't get the words out. Anyway, it'd be weird if a stranger who just assaulted your potential best friend knew what you had in your lumpy package and had to lie that it was something else because you're scared she might have x-ray vision too.

He starts talking about a spell Fred and George told him.

I remember this part now, they're going to Hogwarts, it's their first year… and if I'm not mistaken… Hermione should be…

The door bursts open," Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," a bushy- haired girl with large front teeth says (I'm thinking she's Hermione; she looks nothing like Emma Watson.).

"We've already told you we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl isn't listening, she's looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you going magic? Let's see it, then." she says, plonking down on one of the seats.

"Er- all right."

He clears his throat, before saying,"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." He waves his wand but nothing happens. The rat stays the same. I stifle a giggle and pretend it's a cough when Ron glares at me.

'are you sure it's a real spell?"Says the girl (definitely Hermione)."Well, it's not a very good, is it? I've tried…."she continues but I tune her out, studying the other two's expression; they look so perplexed ,I almost want to laugh if it hadn't been for the fact that I just realized I have no trunk , no reason to be at Hogwarts , I'm not a witch and I've no idea how to get out.

'…Ron Weasley," Ron mutters.

'And you are?" Hermione's questionable gaze falls on me and I realize we're doing introductions now." Are you ok? You look a bit peaky." She comments.

"I 'm fine…just perfectly fine."I say, even though I'm not, a cold feeling is creeping up my back. "Lisa, I'm Lisa Montegromni."

"Harry Potter," harry says next.

"Are you really?" says Hermione. "I know all about you, of course-"she begins.

" So do I," I cut in, happy that I can finally say something resourceful " I've read about you in the Har- "I'm about to say the harry potter series but the words are wedge at the back of my throat so what comes out is a long croak.

"Are you alright, Lisa?" Ron asks, startled.

I nodded, saying, "Just need some water." Before slowly walking out and sliding the door shut.

I rush to the empty compartment I found myself in. I have a bad hunch about this. But instead of a compartment, there seems to be a solid wall standing in the way. What? Did the compartment simply not exist until this morning and vanished as soon I got out?

Baffled, I run to the girls' loo, locking myself in. I need to think these things through. I was too excited about meeting harry potter to figure out my predicament. Stupid, Liz, stupid! Okay…deep breathe…okay…

The croak earlier, it felt the same as when I was going to ask Ron about the corned beef. A force tugging at the back of my throat, swallowing the words. Was I not allowed to mention any of this? Why?

WHY DO I LOOK ELEVEN?

I'm pondering upon this question when somebody knocks on the door. "Hurry up in there, we'll be reaching the Hogsmead station in 2 minutes." it's a woman's voice, it must be the conductor.

Alright, I can do this. Some questions just need to be answered. Maybe I'll find the answers in Hogwarts. I can do this, I mentally cajole myself can pretend I'm a witch. How hard can it be?

I gulp inwardly. Of course I can, I'm sure of it. I'm absolutely sure.

t here...


End file.
